


It's Only a Job

by indigo (indigo_angels)



Series: Mission Arc [20]
Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 04:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19055650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_angels/pseuds/indigo
Summary: Face and Hannibal after a hot and sweaty job in Bangkok. Outsider POV and Mission 78.





	It's Only a Job

**Author's Note:**

  * For [delorita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delorita/gifts).



> This was written following a prompt somewhere from Delorita who had asked for something inspired by the scene in Hangover 2 when Phil was shot. I'd written my first draft of this which I hadn't really liked, and then I'd read Loves_Books' version of the prompt (In the Heat of Bangkok) and I was struck at how closely my story echoed hers. (Great minds!) 
> 
> This, final version, is a redraft of my original fic and a companion fic for LB's.

It hard been hard to follow them through the streets, but then I’d been doing it for so long I barely thought about it. They were in plain clothes, blending in well despite the bloodstained clothing – it was Bangkok after all – and it was late in the afternoon, the streets crammed with an equal measure of tourists and locals. I knew who they were, they’d made enough impact in the few days they’d been in town, ruffled enough feathers, riled enough important men, to make themselves into very, very desirable targets. My heart sang when I thought of the money I would get out of this tip off, as long as I played it very carefully, chose my contact and my time with the utmost caution; maybe I’d even be able to make enough to have a few weeks off, just until the stifling heat died back a little.

 

They were walking quickly, the older man definitely in charge and I craned my neck to get a better look at him as he guided his younger accomplice across a lethal road junction. Colonel Hannibal Smith, legend of the US Army, here in Bangkok, I still couldn’t believe it. They’d come for Montri in the end, and I laughed thinking of all the sleepless nights they had caused, the fear in the underbelly of Bangkok, the crime kings quivering in the air con, terrified that maybe, just maybe, Hannibal Smith’s team were here for _them_. It had been the most fun I’d had in years, watching all that, listening in silent amusement. It was what I did the very best, watching in silence, listening from the shadows, and to be honest, fun was few and far between in this line of work.

 

But then I’d seen them, getting into an altercation with that punk Ricardo as he fled the scene of Montri’s demise. A lucky shot that had taken Peck out and for a horrible moment I thought he was dead, and my bounty had just dropped a good twenty five percent. He’d barely hit the ground though before he’d been struggling up again, a string of swear words from around the globe slipping from his lips as Smith ran to his side, hands all over him, pulling him up, checking his arm, sweeping his sweaty hair back, cupping his cheek... For a minute I’d stopped dead in my tracks, gestures like that, of genuine care and concern, were seldom seen in my world and it hit me right in my gut. But I’d had to shake myself awake as they were quickly on the move once more, Smith with his hands still on his Lieutenant, holding him by his good arm, leading him quickly out of the filthy alley and back into the heaving mass on the streets.

 

I pulled my mobile out, knowing that this in itself was a good enough tip-off, but then pausing, thinking of Murdock and Baracus, knowing I could double my fee if I could hand them all over in one and so I took off after them through the syrupy heat.

 

They didn’t seem to know where they were going, and once Peck recovered a little colour and found his feet, it was obvious that they were arguing. I smiled to myself as I watched Smith almost drag Peck through the edges of the spice market – whatever it was that they were arguing about, it was blatantly obvious that Peck never stood a chance of winning.

 

After almost fifteen minutes of randomly zigzagging through town, it finally became clear where they’d been heading and I frowned; they obviously had no idea just how ‘popular’ they were at this minute in time, how many people wanted their scalps – they would have been far better off just getting out of town as fast as possible, injuries like Peck’s would have to be dealt with on the move. But still, I stood back in the shadows of a laundry van as they had one last argument on the pavement outside the clinic, going in there like that, being in one place for such a long time, just made my life all the easier. I ducked down, ready to head them off through the back door but froze, just for a moment as Smith stood, one hand in Peck’s filthy hair, the other resting on the stubble of his cheek, talking quietly to him, standing right in his intimate space. As I stared, Peck let his forehead drop, resting on his CO’s shoulder, one uninjured arm reaching up to briefly pull them closer together and that lurch was back in my gut. That wasn’t just care and concern I realised as I finally spurred myself into movement, that was tenderness, and who’d have figured that?

 

Doing this job for as long as I have been I’m well known in this city, I have a list of contacts that would make any crime boss squirm, so it was only a matter of minutes before I was sitting at the Reception desk in the pokey little clinic, using the time while I took details from the obviously stoned elderly man in front of me, to check out Smith and Peck as they stood impassively behind him.

 

They were both filthy; sweat stained and bruised, and had obviously had their share of scrapes well before they ran into Ricardo and his poorly timed shot. They stood shoulder to shoulder, Peck in Aviators, Smith’s eyes crinkled up against the glare from the sun outside and it was obvious, despite the carefully maintained casual act, that they were both on high alert. Smith’s eyes were flicking between the front door and the door to the treatment room, while Peck was turned towards the waiting hoards, no doubt assessing each and every one of them as a possible threat. I was impressed, but then realised that you didn’t get to live that long in their game without having those almost unconscious survival skills. It was at that point, just as my stoned old man finally started his stumble towards the plastic seating, just at the point that I perfected my bored but friendly Receptionist expression, just at that point I realised they were holding hands and my stomach swooped again.

 

“Sa-wat-dee kraup” Smith greeted me, and I was saved the trouble of persuading my stunned mouth to cooperate by Peck sighing slightly and stepping forward, the hand of his injured arm softly sliding up Smith’s muscled forearm, the other reaching to peel away his aviators and this time my breath stuck in my throat. I knew my stuff, I knew that he was supposed to be good looking, he wasn’t called ‘The Faceman’ for nothing, but nowhere in my head had I been prepared for my first up-close experience of those eyes, that beautiful smile, the way he looked at me like I actually mattered, despite the pain I could see in his expression.

 

“A-roon-sa-was. Phom-noi-dai-mai-ka?” His delivery was flawless, his accent perfect and I finally managed to haul myself back under control just at the point that it was becoming odd I hadn’t answered him.

 

“Don’t worry,” I flashed a practised smile of my own, “I speak English.” I deliberately left my accent as thick as I could; there was no need for them to become suspicious by my own perfect command of language.

 

Smith stepped forward again, this time his hand going to the small of Peck’s back. “Hello,” his smile was strained and drawn. “I was wondering if you would be able to have a look at my friend here? We’ve had an unfortunate accident with a loose nail.”

 

I could almost feel Peck trying not to laugh at that blatant lie, but I kept my expression blank and nodded as I started filling out a new form. “American?” I asked and Smith nodded. “Vacation?”

 

This time there was a pause, just the slightest of moments before the answer, “No. Work,” was almost ground out through his lips. I nodded.

 

“Do you have insurance?”

 

My answer was a pile of cash pushed over the desk by filthy fingers and I looked up into Smith’s granite face before nodding and passing the form over to them to complete the rest.

 

______________________

 

They should have had at least a two hour wait – plenty of time for every low life in the city to find out where they were, but a quick word with the duty doctor and a good portion of the cash pile later, and they were in, Peck smiling at Smith as he wandered over to the surgery door, Smith, grim faced and tense, not responding, just standing on long legs and watching, watching his XO walk away, watching the door close after him and then just watching, staring as if he could see through the dirty wood before finally giving up and returning to his seat by the window, checking out the exits once again.

 

The rush had died down and there was no one waiting to be checked in so I took the opportunity to study my target as he continued to glare at each door in turn. As much as Peck had been stunning close up, I was also shocked at how attractive Smith was. I’d never found that in the blurred and grainy shots I’d seen in my research, never noticed the strength I could now almost see oozing out of his tall frame. According to the data file I stored in my head, Peck was 6’1” in his stocking feet, but when they’d stood together at the desk, Smith had towered over him. Not just those extra inches I knew, but the whole _presence_ thing.

 

And what of all those looks and touches? What of the holding hands? I quickly filed through everything I knew about them, everything I’d read and heard and there it was, a report given by a deposed guerrilla leader in Sierra Leone, a man who’d captured Smith and threatened to post his execution on the net if he wasn’t given weapons. He hadn’t expected the Spec Ops team, lead by Peck, who blew his camp apart looking for their leader, he also hadn’t been expecting the kiss he claimed he’d seen the two men sharing when Peck found Smith chained up in a lorry at the back of the camp.

 

No one had believed him though, Smith had laughed and asked what on earth people were expecting to hear from a man who’d lost everything and that had been that. But now, my gaze fell on the tension I could almost _feel_ radiating off this powerful lion of a man – and wondered.

 

The door to the treatment room opened once more and there was Peck. His shirtless physique made my mouth go dry and I watched from over the top of my prop-glasses, as he crossed the room towards Smith. It was clear, the more I watched, that Smith obviously shared my own opinion on all the flesh that was on show here. He was clearly having to hold himself in check when he’d much rather be touching. I watched them carefully as I made an imaginary phone call, watched the easy grace with which Peck flopped into the plastic chairs by the window and fastened a single button on his shirt, the way that Smith hovered close by, eyes on his XO the whole time, not just looking but _seeing_ , seeing everything. They were talking, not the agitated arguing from before, now more relaxed, exhausted even and I knew they’d been almost permanently on the go since they arrived in Bangkok five days ago. Easy pickings in this state.

 

My mobile was in my bag, the contacts of any number of local underworld bosses in there, any one of who would pay handsomely to find out where these two men were right now. My fingers twitched but somehow I held back, telling myself I needed to find where the rest of the team were first, needed that full house, but somehow that just felt wrong, and instead I found myself watching them still, wondering what they were saying, wishing I was close enough to hear, wishing my lip reading was up to par.

 

And then, as I was watching, the proof, Peck slumping right into Smith’s frame, his eyes closed, so, so trusting. And Smith, leaning down, letting his cheek rest on damp, sweaty hair, then further still, pressing a kiss onto Peck’s forehead and my heart started pounding in my chest. They only stayed a few more moments, Peck looked fit to drop and Smith hugged him for a moment and then rose, hauling Peck to his feet as he did so. I watched in silence as they shared another hug, another kiss, eyes only for each other, oblivious to the danger they were in, so happy despite the week they’d both had.

 

Then they were leaving, a quick nod of thanks in my direction and they were out in the muggy afternoon heat. I waited for thirty seconds, counting the time down in my head and then slipped out after them keeping them in sight as I wove through the beggars and the traffic, the dogs and the street kids, wondering what the plan was now.

 

For a second I lost them, and then they were there again, right in front of me, Smith’s hand firmly around Peck’s wrist, lost in each others’ eyes once more. I stopped in my tracks and turned to stare in the window of a record shop, watching them in the reflection as they talked quietly, smiled at each other and kissed again, eyes closed, hands softly touching, awakening a feeling in my chest that I hadn’t felt for years. And then they set off once more, hand in hand this time and I followed on, much closer than I had been before, close enough to hear Peck boasting about all the cabins they had to look forward to on their luxury yacht. 

 

I stopped at that and watched as they walked away from me, knowing I had everything I needed now, a few phone calls and their yacht could easily be traced. Murdock and Baracus would be neutralised before Smith and Peck got anywhere near the Marina – and then they wouldn’t know what hit them when they arrived. I pulled my cell out, already planning what I could do with the money, where I could go, who I could see, then I froze, my eyes staring at the contact list, but seeing something very different indeed. I had my very own personal montage playing in my head, Smith running to Peck’s side when he was shot in that alley, the tenderness as they stood chest to chest side outside the clinic, side by side, fingers touching, in the line, Smith fretting like an expectant father while Peck was being stitched up, the kisses, the touches, the long looks and suddenly it struck me.

 

They were in love.

 

I knew what it was like to crave intimate company, I knew that you could be forced into strange decisions when your options were limited, and I’d assumed that that was what this was but I’d been wrong; those men weren’t together for convenience, their nights together were filled with much more than a simple, empty fuck.  For a moment, I had to blink hard, try to clear the blurring from my eyes and then I made a decision, risky maybe, spontaneous definitely, but also very right and so overdue. I punched a number and waited, counting out the calls until it was answered.

 

“Leo? It’s me. I’m going out of town for the next few days, just letting you know.”                   

 

I listened to Leo’s complaints about how we had work to do and he needed me for one of his scams and just tuned him out.

 

“Well, I’m sorry,” I told him when really I was anything but. “I need to head down to the coast, it’s important.” More grumbling and then the question I’d been waiting for. “Smith’s team?” I answered trying to flag down a tuk tuk, “No, I’ve no idea. Last I heard of them they were headed for the airport, must be trying to fly out.”

 

Leo started talking a million to the dozen, worried we were going to miss out on our pay day, but I was past the point of caring. “Look, gotta go,” I told him as I climbed onto the leather seats of my tuk tuk. “Go to the airport, I’ll see you there.”

 

But I wouldn’t, I sat back and held on as we started weaving our way through the traffic towards Hua Lamphong railway station. I also wouldn’t be back in a few days either. In fact I wouldn’t be back in Bangkok at all. If Peck and Smith could find happiness in each other and in such a dangerous life, then why had I given up so easily? Why had I left all that was safe and warm and _loved_ to dabble in death and destruction? I couldn’t remember the reasons now, but like the person that they’d created, they were dead. I smiled to myself, already looking forward to the cool air of the mountains then spotted Smith and Peck as they crossed the road in front of me, still on their way down to the Marina.

 

They looked exhausted, filthy and sweaty and ready to drop, but they were still holding hands and Peck was laughing at something Smith had said while Smith looked fondly at him, his stern expression breaking into a smile. I smiled too, and as we swung out of sight, wished them a, ‘ _chokh dī’_ knowing I would always be grateful to them for opening my eyes to the good of the world once more. 


End file.
